Slap me hard
Quick, without a wince
Twist my arms
Make me wail
Snap my fingers
Forbid me good
Frail me
Stone me for adultery
Place embargoes on
My travels
Christen me again and again
Sour, deadly christenings.
Prod me
Assail my emotions
Rein my thoughts to close kilometres. . .
But do not
Even in trance,
Bid me quiet!

'Tis what the creator endears
When he
Cloths for bodies, made
Rings for fingers and ears, smite
Scarves for heads, transform
Worlds for humans, create
Lids for eyes, command
But
Nought for mouth did he make. . .
. . .not even a frail old protocol!

Now, tell me
Dear Prosecutor. . .
Cite from your big library and college years
Why my silence be all you
Bid hear.


I'll allow you have my names— all of
Them!
Ikorodu
Banana Island
Maitama
I'll stake them away
And many others assets you'll force I declare
But my voice,
You will
Never
Buy!

You will talk,
I will talk
I will talk,
You will talk
Then after voices have risen so high
You will be quiet
To know what my name would be
I will be quiet
To know what your name would be
And if anyone be wrong among us
We'll settle it in words
And a little shaking of hands
Not in silence
Cos your silence or mine
Shuld never be heard. . .

Tell your council,
Dear Clerk
I will not go to court.
I will be here!
From my mouth shall proceed my doom,
delay,
or death!

I will not go to court!
Take all I have
Mask my mouth
For your pandemic's curb
But never,
Never ever bid me quiet,
Dear Minister of the Republic.